


good goodbye

by halcydonia



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Blood, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-26 00:34:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9854102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halcydonia/pseuds/halcydonia
Summary: even in the middle of a zombie invasion, sicheng finds kun.





	

**Author's Note:**

> so i owed ella a zombie fic a longlonglonglonglong time ago. i don't think this is exactly what she asked for. en...joy?

Sicheng is in the herbs and spices aisle when he hears the screaming. Screams aren’t that uncommon with the way things are nowadays, but mostly in camping grounds or abandoned buildings or open fields — places where the zombies are unfettered and rampant. Not in supermarkets in the middle of a city, and certainly not anywhere Sicheng has been before.

But the screaming is loud, and it’s close. With it comes a guttural moan as the creatures press forward, taking victims left and right — both for food and to create more of their brethren.

 _Kun,_ Sicheng thinks in a panic. 

He ducks behind a display of tomato sauce and watches as one of the pack members descends on a crying child before he squeezes his eyes shut. The last time he’d seen Kun had been in the liquor section at the front of the store, where he was picking out a bottle of wine for dinner. Sicheng bites his lip. The zombies have started to break from the pack to pick off individual victims, and Sicheng takes that as a cue to _book it._

He feels the burn in his lungs and thighs, but it’s nothing compared to the panic that crushes his chest, the horror as he sprints past groaning victims and attackers alike. The smell of baking bread and sweet fragrance is overwhelmed by the metallic tang of blood. 

There is a horrifying moment when Sicheng flits past an intersection in the aisles, and feels a vice-like grip around his elbow. When he turns, he sees the ashen, twisted face of a once-person who has lost all of their humanity. He screams, feels himself being pulled close to the creature’s mouth, and grabs the closest, heaviest thing he can find — an aluminum can of oil — before bringing it down on the creature’s head, over and over until it lets go. 

Sicheng stumbles back, leans over and dry heaves, fear and disgust churning awfully in his stomach, but he has to keep going, he has to make sure that Kun is okay. He staggers his way to the front of the store, and almost retches at what he sees.

The glass door to the liquor shop is shattered, shining blood sliding down the remaining shards. Boxes of whiskey and soju are overturned, and blood mixes with red, red wine on the floor. 

“Kun,” Sicheng croaks, “Kun!”

There’s a weak answering groan, and Sicheng’s heart leaps as he scrambles to follow the sound of the voice. He falls to his knees, crying in relief, when he sees Kun lying between two of the shelves, pale and drawn but still alive.

“Hey, hey _baobei_ ,” he says, kneeling at Kun’s side and cradling his head in his lap. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here.”

Kun’s breathing hard and there’s a sheen of sweat on his face. He tries but fails to sit up, as though he’s too weak, but he’s still laughing. 

"Late like you always are," he gets out, his mouth contorted into a smile that looks more like a grimace. 

"Kun, Kun _baobei_ , did they - "

"Got my leg," Kun says, nodding toward his right side. "We tried to barricade the door, lock ourselves in, but there were too many of them." 

Sicheng follows Kun’s gaze and sees the widening pool of blood below his right leg. The fabric of his pants is ripped there, and underneath lays dark, open wound. Sicheng turns away, but the burning in his stomach is no longer from disgust. Frantic, he leaps up and begins piling boxes against the door, as both a protective and preventative measure — not only to keep the zombies out, but also to keep the newly turned barricaded in the small liquor store, away from the rest of the market. From the rising sound of human groans, even more ghastly than those of the monsters outside, Sicheng only belatedly fears for his life. 

“What are you doing,” Kun panics, “What are you doing, Sicheng, you can’t do this!”

“Shut up and clench your abs,” Sicheng pants when he’s finished, sliding back to Kun’s side before pressing down on his stomach. 

“I don’t see how a workout in the middle of a zombie invasion is going to help — ”

“It’ll force the blood down into your legs to slow the venom from reaching the rest of your body!” Sicheng cries on one frantic breath. Kun opens his mouth to speak, but then closes it and obeys. His expression quickly flickers from concentrated to hysterical.

“I can’t do it,” he whispers, like he can’t muster a greater voice from his chest, “I can’t feel my stomach.”

That's how the venom forces the turn. It rises in the body, sometimes freezing the heart, other times forcing all of the air out of the lungs before it kills you. In all cases, you pray for the former rather than the latter. 

Sicheng swears loudly, and glances around before picking up a bottle of strong liquor. He smashes the neck against the ground and, with shaking hands, upends the contents onto the wound on Kun’s leg. It already seems to be festering, the imprints of teeth stark against the skin. 

And Sicheng’s only heard of this working in desperate blogs and the odd news story, but _he_ is the desperate one now, so he leans down, presses his lips to the wound, and sucks, _hard_.

Kun wails and thrashes with as much force as his half-paralyzed body allows, but Sicheng takes it and keeps spitting out rotting, fetid blood until he can taste iron again. He leans over and chokes, putting the last bit of alcohol to his lips. 

“You’re crazy,” Kun breathes, panting. “If you have a cut in your mouth, if any of the poison got in — “

Sicheng crawls up to Kun’s chest and listens to his fluttering heart, a lifeline. “You gave me a life, Kun. I will give you a lifetime,” Sicheng promises, turning his nose into Kun’s neck so he can breathe easier, get the stench of blood out of him. “I would lose _everything_ for you.” Kun gently, gently cups Sicheng’s chin and lifts his face until they’re at eye level.

“Even your humanity?” he whispers, unbearably serious. 

“Everything,” Sicheng whispers back without looking away. 

“No, Sicheng, you are going to listen to me,” Kun demands, dropping his hands to Sicheng’s shoulders. “I am going to die, very, very soon. I am going to turn, and I am going to be feral and vicious. I am going to bite you. I am going to attempt to eat you. That is, if the others who turn do not get to you first.” He shakes Sicheng almost violently when he winces, in an attempt to get him to understand. “Sicheng, you can get out of here. The control force will be here soon. You can _live_.”

And he reaches down for the bottle of alcohol and shatters it against a shelf, picks up a long, jagged piece of glass and presses the shard into Sicheng’s hand with bleeding fingers.

“What… why…?” Sicheng says, uncomprehending, and Kun brings his hand up to clasp at the back of Sicheng’s neck. 

“This place right here, it’s a zombie’s weak point. You understand now, Sicheng, don’t you?”

The realization turns Sicheng’s stomach to ice. “Oh my god… Oh my god, no, I _can’t_ ,” he begs, shaking his head violently, and that’s when the tears start coming, rolling down his face, the shock forcing him to tremble and choke on air. 

“Live, Sicheng,” Kun whispers, tears in his eyes, too.

“No, no, _no_ ,” Sicheng sobs, and Kun uses his remaining strength to pull him close. 

Sicheng squeezes his eyes shut, burying his head in the crook of Kun’s shoulder, and wills himself to imagine how this night could have gone. They pay for their groceries, but not before bickering about whose card to use (even though they have a joint account anyway). They step over the threshold of their apartment hand in hand. Kun starts on dinner, and Sicheng pours the wine Kun had chosen. Kun burns the stir fry, distracted by Sicheng’s cheeky kisses and wandering hands, but Sicheng has takeout menus close by. They watch a movie after flicking dishwater in each other’s faces, Kun’s head in Sicheng’s lap and Sicheng’s fingers carding through Kun’s hair. They fall asleep like that and wake in the morning blinking at each other, heavy with warmth and affection. 

The image is so ordinary, so tangible, that Sicheng feels the loss like a physical pain in his chest. If he hadn’t been late to come home like he _always_ is, if he hadn’t pulled Kun close and murmured in his ear, _We’ve got all the time in the world…_

“I love you,“ Kun whispers, mercilessly breaking the reverie, and he makes it sound like a goodbye. Sicheng curls into his chest, grips the shard of glass in his hand, and he holds his breath as he waits for Kun's heart to stop.

**Author's Note:**

> if my last fic was my pent-up negativity from last semester, this fic is my feelings of overwhelming dread toward this semester. gg. 
> 
> although i've taken an extended and unexplained break, yell at me on [tumblr](oh-sicheng.tumblr.com). please.


End file.
